


Missing Trousers

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Married Life, Mild Smut, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Oneshot, Sexual Content, domestic ron, it's really just hermione rubbing him through his pants but better to be safe, rff 2020, romione, romione fic fest 2020, romione oneshot, sexual touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: Hermione’s brief stint with working from home has not been going well: Ron is terrible at housework, he’s bored out of his mind, and —on top of all that— the racket he’s making as he apparently turns the house inside out is totally shattering her concentration. So when he barges into her office, determined to get her to pay some attention to him, she decides to get back at him by teasing him a little before she attempts, for what seems like the millionth time, to get back to work. (Romione oneshot)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Missing Trousers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Romione Ficlet Fest 2020 on Tumblr, for the prompt "pants". :)
> 
> You can find the original here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/618770702996275201/missing-trousers

When Kingsley had suggested she take the papers home and sort them out there, she'd hopped onto the idea eagerly: she might be able to work better away from the bustle of the Ministry, in the quiet warmth of her own little study at home, surrounded by books and with a nice cup of tea next to her at all times, the stiff Ministry garb replaced by fuzzy socks and sweatpants… A few days back, Ministry curse-breakers had found a cave system in West Ireland, and though there hadn't been any curses to undo or treasures to return, there'd been some unfamiliar runes scraggled across the stony wall. Bill, who'd been on the team, could only think of one person right for the job, and Kingsley had immediately agreed: and that's how Hermione Granger —for whom, at 20, the epithet of 'brightest witch her age"'had never rung false—, came to be sitting in her study at home, deciphering runes that could earn her a medal from the Wizengamot.

Or so she _would_ be, if the racket outside would stop.

In a fit of gallantry, Ron had offered to take over all of the housework they usually split so she could have time to pour into her work; however, he'd soon realized he'd bitten off more than he could chew. He was going insane with the chores, and with the boredom of having Hermione shut in her study all day long. Besides —though she'd never admit it to his face, for fear he'd tell her she sounded like his mother—, Ron may be skilled at many things, but housework just wasn't one of them, and Hermione cringed a little every time she heard a dish break or a piece of furniture bowl over, inevitably punctuated with some of Ron's choice swearwords.

But today it went further: all of a sudden, as she tried to pick her way back to the rune she'd left off on, the door to her study flew open with a bang. She lifted her gaze from her papers and was met with a comical sight: Ron was splayed like a star across the doorway, a wild look in his eyes, clad only in a T-shirt, knee-length socks, and green Snitch-patterned underwear: "My trousers are missing!"

"There's such a thing as knocking, you know," she quipped, and tried to dive back into her work, but he marched right up to her desk and she was forced to look up again.

"Hermione, my trousers are missing!"

"I got that the first time, thank you," she sighed, leaning back in her chair rubbing her tired eyes, with the resignation that there was no way she was getting work done now. "What's the matter, Ron? Housework not sitting well with you?"

"Oh, I'll have you know it's going splendidly," he huffed, and Hermione had to stifle an amused snort at how clearly false that was, "very well indeed, I think I may have found the one thing I'm better at than you. Only there's one problem—"

"Let me guess: your trousers are missing," said Hermione, breaking out into a grin.

Ron was hysterical: "Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, but this is a serious matter! I can't find them, and I need them!"

"Why don't you just try a Summoning charm?"

Ron withdrew a bit, looking sheepish, and rubbed the back of his head absentmindedly without meeting Hermione's eyes as he muttered something that sounded a bit like 'dunno where my wand is…'

"Oh my god, Ron, you've lost your wand too?" she cried, but she wasn't really surprised: it wouldn't be too far-fetched if Ron had misplaced his wand somewhere in the mess he kept creating rather than tidying. She pushed her chair back and began getting up: "That's it, I'm going to go help you—"

"No, no, no, no, no!" firmly yelled Ron as he hurried over to the other side of her desk and pushed her back into her chair. "As much as it pains me to admit that, yes, I may be slightly dreadful at housework —oh, get that look off your face, won't you—" he groaned when a slight smirk of vindication drew itself across her face, "I promised you I'd do it so you could get your space to work, and Ronald Bilius Weasley is a man of his word." He paused, feigning solemnity with a hand across his heart: "Yes, even when he's wearing nothing but his old Quidditch underwear." He paused, lowered his hand, and continued in a slower, deeper tone: "And yet…"

"Yes?" she said, raising her head to look him questioningly in the eye.

He paused for an instant, then said in the same sly, low voice: "It'd be nice if you'd find it in your schedule to, y'know, make some time for me…"

"Oh, Ron, I know you're bored, but my schedule's packed—" she was cut off by a small gasp, as she noticed Ron slowly draping his left leg around her thighs. "Ron, what are you doing?"

"Attempting to convince you," he grinned broadly, settling comfortably now on her lap with his legs hugging her waist, his hands resting on her shoulders and his back reclined lightly against her desk. He locked his gaze with hers: "Although, of course, as you well know by now, I'm not wearing trousers," he said, diverting his glance downward toward the green underwear —which was quickly beginning to stretch— momentarily before raising it to meet hers again, a new spark in his eyes, "but I should hardly think that'd be a dissuasive factor."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd love for it to be the opposite," Hermione purred back in the same low tone, her right hand making her way from her quill to his underwear, as she began to rub him slowly. He let out a small grunt of pleasure, and she smirked satisfiedly: "I'm sure you'd love for me to tell you that this is _exactly_ how I want you to convince me from now on, waltzing into my office in just your underwear…"

"You're right, I'd — _oh_ — I'd love that," mumbled Ron between throaty moans, which were steadily increasing in intensity and volume as she dug her hand in further, stroking and pulling lightly at his quickly-growing bulge. "Really be — _ah_ — a boost to my — _oh_ — a boost to my ego— _oh, Merlin, Hermione_ ," he whimpered as she drew him closer, her left hand behind his back as the other one continued working, and leaned in to begin nipping slightly at his neck, kissing and biting alternately as her hand intensified its movements.

"Your ego, Ronald?" she laughed in between kisses, reveling in how his contented grunts seemed to punctuate her movements. "Like that needs to get any bigger…"

"Well you — _uh_ — you know me, I'm a great — _ah_ — I'm a great guy, I can't deny — _Merlin, Hermione, that feels so good_ — I can't deny it," he said now, almost as if he were breathing the words out, squirming and tensing contentedly on Hermione's lap as she continued to stroke him. She pulled a little harder now, and a pleading whine burst from his lips: "Oh, Hermione, keep going, please, I'll do anything…"

"Anything?" she teased sultrily, repeating the same pull and taking pleasure in how the whine this time seemed to be higher, harder to contain.

He trembled, struggling to get out words from the moans that now seemed to be cascading through his lips: "Anything."

Then her hand left his crotch, she pushed her chair back and shoved him off playfully, and with a flick of her wand, sent him sliding across the study and out of it, a stunned look plastered across his face: "Then get out of my office, and let me work!"


End file.
